


Gimme, Gimme, Gimme (70's Losers Club)

by KE_R



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Mafia/Conman, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Bisexual Richie Tozier, Conman Eddie Kaspbrak, Conman Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Mike Hanlon, Gay Panic, Gay Stanley Uris, HOW DO YOU TAG THINGS, Homophobic Language, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Switch Reddie bc i said so, bev is a bad bitch, oh god everyone is gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KE_R/pseuds/KE_R
Summary: inspired by derryfacts2, madslineart, and ottariwar on twt"You wanna say that again, asshole?" Eddie gripped the collar of the cheap material on the man's shirt, watching him swallow nervously as he raised an eyebrow."Nah, why don't you speak up? Since you thought it was so clever."The man looked between him and Richie silently, who was leaning against the car, smiling to himself proudly as he toyed with the toothpick in his teeth."Thought so. Now; I think you should apologize to my boyfriend before your cheek hits the dust beneath my shoes."
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	Gimme, Gimme, Gimme (70's Losers Club)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time ever writing a fic please be merciful clown nation  
> i would actually love feedback, my insta is @peachyfroggie if youd like to drop a word !

Letting out a chuckle, Richie chewed on his toothpick through a wide smile. His eyes flitted between the three men in the dimly lit room, rocking back in his chair. They looked at him strangely, one narrowing his eyes and sitting up straight.

"What's with the shit-eating grin, Tozier?"

"Nothin’, my friend. Not a single thing."

With a bored sigh, he splayed his cards face-down on the table before standing up with an even wider grin. He had known this would happen. He even told Stanley ahead of time, feet propped on the table as he smushed his cigarette into the small blackened ashtray in their large kitchen, arms stretching high behind him earlier that day.

"I'm fuckin' telling you, Stan, they're gonna think they're pullin a fast one on me. On ME, Richie Tozier, cheating extraordinaire and top notch comedian." Richie flicked a crumb from his deli sandwich off the table, leaning back in his own chair. Sighing, he blew a raspberry as the man opposite of him just rolled his eyes. Giving a forlorn pout, Richie scooted closer to Stanley, putting his chin in his hands and almost dropping his nice new green blazer that hung from the back of his chair. “Aw, Stannie, ain’tcha gonna be worried about lil’ ol’ me?” Blinking his eyelashes obnoxiously was clearly not the move because Stanley didn’t even look up from his book, letting out a scoff and muttering a small,“No, I’m not.” A beat of silence passed before he was tipping back in his chair again, wailing loud enough to wake the other side of the world, making Stan cringe as he looked up from his book with a glare. Richie had covered his eyes, peeking through the gaps of his fingers before letting them drop from his cheeks.  
"Rich, if you know so well, why are you even gonna go do it? And give me more to worry about?" The last bit had an edge of sarcasm in it that had Richie making a face. He sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest through his open button-down, tipping back in his chair. "Oh, my dear Stannie boy, worrying about his hilarious and dashingly handsome partner-in-crime! It’s mighty sweet n’ all, but don't get too worked up; it's not like anything bad will happen anyway.’’ He shrugged, before taking his feet of the table and crossing his arms. “Besides…….Mikey is busy, and…...," he stopped, raising an eyebrow, before Stanley looked up from his book questioningly. After three eyebrow wiggles, a nudge, and two solid minutes of intense silence Stanley groaned. Setting his book down on the dark oak table, he rolled his head lolled back in defeat.  
"......Fine.” Richie beamed, lifting his hand for a high five before getting cut off.  
"But you can deal with those guys in the other room, I'm staying in the club. I’ll need a drink after dealing with your shit."

Richie clapped his hands loudly, standing abruptly as he slid on his orange shades, extracting a toothpick from his pants pocket and pulling his blazer on. " Deal! Atta boy, Stan, I knew you'd come around. And now, to the car! Quickly now, soldier!" Richie marched out of the room triumphantly, patting his pistol through his yellow button down, biting down on the toothpick he had put in his mouth with far too much finesse for one man to possess. "Too bad Bevvy couldn't come to make a mess with us, huh? These guys won’t know what hit ‘em. Poor amateurs." Stanley had stood up much more silently than his colleague had, fixing his pants and pulling on his black jacket. "Yeah, okay, Al Paccino, just get in the car. You need anything before we leave?" Notorious for forgetting his things, of course, Richie answered in full confidence as he pulled a hand through loose black curls, slipping on his best country accent. "Got mah’ trusty Hardballer on me, Stan, no worries." He paused, before speaking lowly, this time in another one of his countless imitations of a New Yorker. "Unless you wanna make sure I'm not missing anything, sweetheart?” Stanley walked straight past without as much as a sideways glance. "I'm fine with not feeling up your chest hair, asshole. Let's go." 

Richie let out a laugh, grinning as he fixed his shirt a bit, fingers running on his mustache. "Have I ever told you how much I love our friendship, Uris?"  
With a slight smile, the man in question shot a glance over his shoulder, twirling the keys in his fingers. "No, Tozier, I don't think you have."

And then Richie was casting another glance over the three men in front of him, his cards not yet shown before he popped the fourth button of his shirt. He gave the fakest sorrowful look he could manage, pulling the toothpick out of his mouth so incredibly slowly he could feel each and every one of the men hold their breath.  
"Y'know, you guys were beginning to really grow on me. Such nice taste in fashion and even better taste in alcohol…. It’s a damn shame, really." He sighed, watching their eyes follow his toothpick as he flicked it from his mouth, slumping forward on the table. "But you're the absolute worst at rigging this shit. And, honestly, it's just getting annoying for me- not even fun anymore." He shrugged, watching the one closest to him seethe. Rich let a small smirk slide; he knew how to get under just about anyone’s collar, and most definitely used it to his advantage. The man closest to him slammed his cards, one of the others trying to grab hold of him before he pulled a small gun in his shaking hand, stalking close to Richie. 

"Alright, funny man, then let’s see what you’re really made of." He pressed the cold barrel to Richie's temple, still trembling, the other two having gotten up as Richie drew sad circles on the table. "No comedics now, huh? What're gonna do?" Richie didn't flinch before reaching down into his shirt slowly, dragging his hand up his side within the fabric, hand gripping the cold metal of his own pistol.  
Even if this was just a petty group of novices, the exhilaration of a fight never ceased to fire him up.  
"I'm gonna blow every single one of your brains out, dude. That’s what I’m gonna do. Keep up man, geez, it's like you've never done this before." 

And then, at exactly 10:23 pm, where Eddie was perched on his favorite barstool (the cleanest one; seventh from the door, to be exact), they heard three gunshots, two men yelling, and by the time Eddie had swallowed his shot fully and turned to face the commotion behind him, his wide eyes were met by quite a sight for sore eyes.

A wall, first off, absolutely demolished, with the similarity to the hole in which the Kool-Aid man might hop through. Before Eddie could hop off his seat, steal another shot and high tail it home for dear life, two men stumbled out of the hole, yelling, as the bar turned all heads to the sound of feet against the floor. 

And then, someone was humming. 

"-am hooked on a feeling!", Followed by badly imitated trumpet noises, as one of the two men that stumbled out held up a gun, and then Eddie was frozen. A gun? Here? In a….gay bar?

Well, that's what he gets for his year anniversary of his divorce and figuring out just how sick he was.  
And how much he decided to enjoy it.

"I'm high on believin'-", 

That was way off tune.

"- that you're in love with me!"

And out of the crash site of a bar wall stepped the tallest, broadest, loudest man Eddie had ever seen, fixing the green sleeves of his expensive looking suit.  
"Sheesh, man, can't a guy just have a little fun without makin' it all serious round here?"  
How does one sound just as obnoxious as they look, Eddie wonders as he stares.  
And then the man was grinning, grabbing the light fixture on the wall next to him and knocking the nearest guy upside the head with it.  
He snorted. "Lighten up, guys."

Did...did he just make a joke? While almost killing a dude? 

And again, before Eddie even had a chance to process the incredibly ridiculous scene unfold in front of him, a man two seats from him slammed his shot glass on the table and groaned, the bartender just cocking an eyebrow.

"Babysitting duty, Stan?"  
"One more shot. For the road."  
"Comin'."

Where the hell was he? In some gangster 20's movie?  
No, Big Guy had popped the collar on his yellow button down- which was very noticeably open and pulled taut on his chest and arms as he raised his gun, without flinching, to the man left standing in front of him. The safety clicked, and Eddie was white-knuckling his shot glass, every breath in the room held.

Three beats of silence.

"Boo!"  
The man flinched, and Big Guy doubled over in laughter as he snorted. "Fuckin' gotcha! Stan, did you see that? He really…..oh my god-," Wiping a tear from his eye, he sighed, chuckling a little as the man who Big Guy was talking to was tugging on his coat. “Are we done, Rich? I’m not paying for the wall, this time.”  
Eddie gulped, eyes flitting between the men.  
This time? The hell did that mean?  
Eddie had, never in his life, been so absolutely dumbfounded, terrified, and mildly irritated ever in his whole life.


End file.
